


Announcing High King Whatever

by mornen



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Boxing, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mornen/pseuds/mornen
Summary: Círdan wanted a quiet harbour. Gil-galad wanted a bit of fun. Elrond just wanted to be left alone to mope, read books, and eat chocolate, but apparently that wasn't "healthy" or "realistic" or "going to get you anywhere in life, Elrond." A completely irreverent tale following the adventures of a bored High King, his sassy herald, and said herald's serious attitude problem.





	1. Prologue: The New Herald

Gil-galad stood in his room smiling. He was filled with bliss. The blue curtains in the window blew in on the wind. In the trees outside birds were singing sweet songs that filled the air. All was well in Middle-earth. Morgoth had been thrown out. Their enemies were scattered. And Círdan had sent Gil-galad a herald.

Círdan had written a letter that he sent along with said herald explaining that Elrond was the son of Eärendil and Elwing and would be very useful to him. It was neither a very neat nor a very polished letter, but Círdan had never been one with a way with words. The point of the matter was that Círdan had sent him a herald.

Gil-galad had wanted a herald for sometime now. Most kings had heralds, for they came in very useful for all sorts of things. They also carried banners around so that you didn't have to. Not that Gil-galad had carried his own banner around. He actually had what might be called a 'herald.' But he wasn't a real herald by any means. He was just a boring old elf who carried around his banner and scolded him. (Yes, 'carrying around the banner' was the definition of 'herald' but still! That was like saying a chaperone was a date. It was ridiculous.) He wanted someone young. Someone fun. Someone he could boss around and make bring him cake and ice cream at three in the morning without being told: 'I do not believe that would be wise, my king. Do consider the sugar, my king. It may seem like a good plan now, but what shall you do when you are kept awake hyper in the night and wake groggy in the morrow?'

Elrond, however, seemed like just the sort of herald he needed. He was young. He didn't know if he was fun, but he was handsome, which was halfway there. And he could definitely boss him around.

Smiling Gil-galad re-read the letter that Elrond had handed him after presenting himself.

It read as follows:

My Dearest Gil-galad,

_I send to you Elrond, son of Eärendil and Elwing. He will be invaluable to you if he proves to be halfway as smart and brave and resourceful as his wonderful parents. In fact, even if he were a quarter way as smart and brave and resourceful as his wonderful parents he would be valuable. You do not need to thank me. Seeing him placed and happy will be thanks enough._

_You may have heard of his brother, Elros, who chose to be counted among mortal men and is now ruling king of Númenor. Well, Elrond chose to be counted among the Eldar and was just hanging around here, and I thought you could make better use of him. After all, if his brother is king it sounds like a splendid thing for him to be herald to the king and carry around his banner and basically be his slave boy._

_Also, it's quite handy that they're identical because if you're ever angry with the King of Númenor you can just release that anger by whomping him around with a pillow or something and not starting a war. Elrond's uses are infinite!_

_Elrond was very excited about the idea of being your herald (in fact, he jumped up and down, clapped, and shouted 'Yippee!' when I told him) so you shouldn't have any problems with him._

_As you probably know, the Fëanorians Maedhros and Maglor raised him and his brother. I don't know exactly how he feels about them because whenever someone brings them up he just says, 'oh, them,' and goes outside to chop up wood (I forgot to mention earlier that he chops wood. He really is quite useful!) Some may think that this is a sign of aggression, but I would believe they are mistaken there as he does the same if his parents are mentioned. I do believe he just loves to be useful._

_Anyway, he really is a sweet thing, and I'm sure you'll get along splendidly. I hope to hear how you're doing in a couple hundred years or so._

_Take care,_

_Círdan_

Gil-galad turned to look at Elrond. He was sitting at the table looking down at the map of Middle-earth, chin cupped in his hands, studying the map diligently. Okay, so maybe not so much 'fun.' But who knew? The quiet ones often had the craziest sides. Gil-galad figured that he and Elrond would get along splendidly.

He walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Hey,' he said.

Elrond stirred and made a little 'mmm' noise in the back of his throat.

Gil-galad smiled down at him. 'You're the brother of Tar-Minyatur, I see.' He waved the letter about to show where he had gotten the information.

'Mmm.'

'So, tell me a little about yourself.'

Elrond cracked open one eye. Then he opened the other. He stared at the High King. 'Pardon?'

'Tell me a little about yourself.' Gil-galad pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. 'I'm curious to know more about my new herald.'

'Um…' Elrond looked down at the map he had been pretending to study while actually trying to catch a nap. 'What do you want to know?'

'Anything,' Gil-galad said. 'What's your favourite colour? What's your best memory? Why did you want this job?'

'I didn't want this job.' Elrond looked annoyed. 'I never wanted this job. Did Círdan tell you I wanted this job? Because you can bet your shiny spear I didn't. I wanted to be left alone to mope, read books, and eat chocolate, but apparently that wasn't "healthy" or "realistic" or "going to get you anywhere in life, _Elrond_."'

'Oh.' Gil-galad looked down at the map. 'That does change things.'


	2. Duties of the Formal Nature

Gil-galad woke up the next morning to a cup of cold water dumped over his face. He sputtered awake to find Elrond standing over the bed.

'Good morning,' he said, as if pouring a cup of cold water over a high king's face were the most natural thing in the world. He paused. 'Or bad morning, if we are going by your expression.'

For a moment Gil-galad lay still, reflecting on what had happened. Then he remembered. He had gotten a new herald. Now he was slogging through the aftermath of 'be careful what you wish for.' No matter. Gil-galad was a very smart and very resourceful person. He would make the best of this.

Gil-galad sat up and smiled amiably. 'Good morning,' he said and grabbed Elrond by the shirt and dried his face on it.

Elrond looked down at the wet patch on his shirt and frowned. 'Hmm. Elros usually used the end of the blanket.' He grabbed the blanket at the very foot of the bed and waved it. 'See? Still nice and dry.'

'Yes.' Gil-galad detangled himself from his wet sheets and got out of bed. The curtains were drawn, letting in a flood of bright light that illuminated Elrond's hair and face beautifully. He looked like the songs that were sang of Lúthien. Gil-galad had never seen anything more annoying.

'Elros might have liked water,' Gil-galad said, 'but I prefer to be woken by a firm but gentle shake of the shoulder. Like this.' He put his hand on Elrond's shoulder and pushed him face-first onto the wet patch on the bed. Hard. 'No, gentler,' he said, and rocked Elrond against the bed. 'Like that. That's good.' He let go of Elrond and looked around for his clothes. He had left them on the end of the bed the night before so that he could dress quickly in the morning, but they were not there.

Elrond got up and dried his face with his hand, and then with the blanket at the foot of the bed. He sniffed, straightened his shoulders and went to the mirror to fix his rumpled hair.

Gil-galad looked around his bed for his clothes, but they had not fallen down. He frowned. 'Elrond,' he said, turning to the mirror, but Elrond had already fixed his hair into a (annoyingly) remarkable state of neatness and was sitting by the map again, this time tracing the mountain ranges with his forefinger, muttering, 'ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch.' Gil-galad had no idea why, and he didn't care to ask.

'Elrond, did you see my clothes?'

'Yes,' said Elrond. 'Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch,' said Elrond.

'Okay.' Gil-galad brushed his damp hair back and took a deep breath. 'Did you do something with my clothes?'

'Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch. Yes.'

Gil-galad held his hands composedly in front of him. He smiled pleasantly at Elrond. 'What did you do with my clothes?'

'I put them in the laundry for you,' said Elrond.

'They weren't dirty.'

'Oh.' Elrond looked up at him and fluttered his long, dark lashes in confusion. 'So your laundry detergent smells like that? Or is it just you?'

Ignoring him Gil-galad went to his closet and got out a new outfit. He laid it out on the (dry) end of the bed. Elrond was still ch-ch-ing the mountains. Gil-galad changed his clothes, folded his nightclothes neatly, and laid them under the pillow.

' _Bam!_ ' Elrond had slammed his finger down onto the island of Númenor. Then he got up calmly and picked up Gil-galad's brush. 'Let me get your hair.'

Wondering how it was possible that a hairbrush could look like a weapon in Elrond's hands, Gil-galad sat down. Elrond started to brush his hair quite gently.

'So,' Elrond said peering down sideways at Gil-galad from where he stood. 'What are we going to do about this?'

'About what?'

'About our situation. About my being your herald. Do you still want me, or are you going to send me back?'

Gil-galad cleared his throat a couple times. He had no good answer. He blinked hard a couple times. He still had no good answer. This was stupid. He was a very diplomatic, very intelligent person. He had to come up with a good answer. Sending Elrond back would be an insult to Círdan, but he didn't know if keeping him would be anywhere close to a wise thing to do. Oh, his advisors were certainly wearing off on him.

Gil-galad looked up at Elrond. 'Well, I guess that depends on a few things. For instance, why didn't you want this job?'

'I already told you,' Elrond said. 'I wanted to be left alone.'

'So…you didn't want any job?' Gil-galad said hopefully. 'This job would be just as bad as any other?'

Elrond shrugged. 'They could have let me be a librarian.'

'Hmm.' Gil-galad looked out the window. The sun was shining as it had been yesterday, and the birds were still singing, but no bliss filled his heart. He looked at Elrond again. Elrond appeared to be checking his hair for split ends. 'Did you know that we're related?'

'Yeah, but I kind of hate all my relatives, so.' Elrond shrugged and scraped the hairbrush over his scalp. 'Shh,' he said when Gil-galad squirmed in protest. 'This is invigorating for your scalp. It's very good for you.'

Gil-galad sat with his back straight and gritted his teeth stoically. 'So, you hate all your relatives?'

'Mmm,' Elrond looked up at the ceiling. 'Yeah, more or less.'

'Even Elros?'

'Especially Elros.' A sudden light lit up Elrond's eyes. 'Oh!' he exclaimed. 'Do you think you could declare war on him?'

'No,' said Gil-galad.

'Shame.' Elrond went back to looking sour. 'How do you want your hair?' he asked after a moment. 'Up? Down? Braided? Loose? Ponytails?' He held Gil-galad's hair in two clumps on either side of his head. 'Cinnamon buns?'

'Loose is fine.' Gil-galad stood up, bumping into Elrond as he did so. 'All right. You don't want to be here. And you don't want to work for me.' He looked up at the ceiling. 'You want to be a librarian and declare war on your brother.'

Elrond paused. 'No, I want to be a librarian or declare war on my brother.'

'Hmm,' said Gil-galad.

There was a knock on the door.

'Come in,' said Gil-galad.

The door opened and Gil-galad's former herald walked in formally. Walking formally was one of his many 'talents.' Walking formally was not an easy thing to do. He had shown Gil-galad how he could walk with an egg balanced on top of his head and not break it. Gil-galad had knocked the egg off with a paper aeroplane. His former herald had looked down at the egg formally. Then he had shown Gil-galad how to clean up an egg formally.

Formerly Gil-galad would have rejoiced that his former herald's formal egg cleaning was formally a former event, but looking at Elrond (who was now sitting slouched on his sofa, sulking) his heady hopes were halted.

'Good morning, my king,' his former herald said. 'I received word of my promotion yester-eve, and I came here to inform you that I am indeed glad.' He bowed formally.

'Yes,' Gil-galad said. 'You deserved it.' He smiled.

His former herald smiled back formally. Gil-galad didn't even know how he did that. He sighed.

'Ah.' Gil-galad waved a hand towards Elrond. 'That's my, uh, new herald, Elrond.'

His former herald nodded formally at Elrond. 'I have a list of your formal duties,' he said.

''kay,' said Elrond.

The former herald pulled out a very neatly folded paper and opened it. He cleared his throat formally. 'The Formal Duties of the Herald of High King Gil-galad,' he read. 'I. To ride into battle with High King Gil-galad, carrying his banner and other such symbols of the king's heraldry.'

''kay,' said Elrond.

'II. To defend the High King in any battle even unto their own death.'

Elrond rolled his eyes.

'III. To assist the High King with his armour, weapons, and clothing.'

Elrond wrinkled his nose.

'IV. To assist the High King with mounting and dismounting his steed, if that is so required.'

'I'm actually really good at that,' Gil-galad said. 'Even with the armour.'

'Good to know,' said Elrond.

The former herald sniffed formally before continuing. 'V. To convey messages back and forth between the High King and his allies and/or enemies. In this the herald is granted diplomatic immunity and should not need to fear for their life.'

'Should not need to?' said Elrond. 'But I might?'

The former herald formally ignored him. 'VI. To announce the coming of the High King.'

'His coming?' said Elrond. 'Like, all his coming? Like, he walks into the dining room and I'm supposed to say, "here's the king da la da la da di?"'

The former herald turned to Gil-galad. 'My king,' he said, 'may I suggest to you – from my new promoted position of advisor – that you fire your herald?'

'Suggestion noted, considered, and dismissed,' said Gil-galad, just to piss him off. 'You may continue with the duties.'

'I do not believe that is wise, my king, but very well.' The former herald lifted up the formal list once more. 'VII. To warm the bed of the High King and/or his person as needed.'

'What?' said Elrond.

'VII. To warm the bed of the High King and/or his person as needed,' repeated the former herald.

'It means you lie in the bed in order to warm it so that I don't have to climb between cold sheets,' said Gil-galad.

'Huh,' said Elrond. 'That's actually part of the job description?'

'Yes.'

'Cool. I can't wait to put "lounging around in bed" on my resume.' He sunk down lower on the sofa.

'VIII. To perform any other tasks or carry out any other whims that the High King should be inclined to ask.' The former herald finished and folded the paper. He handed it to Elrond. 'Congratulations on your position.'

'Sure.' Elrond stuck the paper into his trouser pocket.

'Thank you,' said Gil-galad to his former herald who bowed formally and walked out again. The door closed behind him with a formal click.

'He looks like he learned to walk by carrying an apple on his head,' said Elrond.

'An egg,' said Gil-galad. 'He learned to walk by carrying an egg on his head.'

'Well, that's messy.'

'Yes, it is.'

They regarded each other for some time in silence.

Finally Elrond broke the silence. 'I can balance seven spoons on my face at once.'

'That's...interesting.'

'Yes,' said Elrond, 'very.'

Just then, Erestor walked in.


	3. Introducing Erestor

Elrond and Gil-galad both turned to look at Erestor. Erestor stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before bowing his head.

'You asked for me, my king?'

Erestor was a very young Elf, only thirty-six years old. His parents had lived in the Havens of Sirion and had managed to survive the attack by the Sons of Fëanor. After that, they had joined themselves with Gil-galad's people and tried to make a new life in the emerging country of Lindon. Erestor was a very distant relative of Gil-galad, and had first caught his attention on account of his incredible strategizing skills, which were made known by his rein as the unchallenged Chess Champion of the New Country of Lindon nineteen years running.

'Yes,' said Gil-galad. 'I have someone I want you to meet.' He placed a hand on his new herald's shoulder. 'Elrond, this is Erestor. Erestor, this is Elrond.'

At this, Erestor's face lit up in a beautiful smile of dazzling joy. 'You're Elrond!' he exclaimed. 'Oh. My. Goodness. You have no idea how excited I am to meet you.' He clapped his hands to his face, cheeks flushing. 'This is, like, the best thing ever. Wow, you're so cool! Here!' He dug into the leather messenger bag he wore slung over his body and pulled out a small blue book. 'Could I, like, get your autograph?'

Elrond stared at him in confusion. He looked up at Gil-galad for an explanation.

'He collects autographs,' Gil-galad said.

Elrond looked at Erestor, who was staring at him with big, hopeful eyes, clutching the autograph book against his chest.

'Why am I cool?' Elrond asked.

'I thought it summed up your personality pretty well,' said Gil-galad.

'Your parents saved Middle-earth!' Erestor exclaimed, sitting down beside him. 'They're just absolutely incredible, and smart, and brave, and amazing. And I'm standing in the same room as their son!' He looked fit to swoon. 'Here!' He opened the book. 'I got your father's autograph. He couldn't technically set foot on the Hither Lands, but he did manage to hover his ship low enough for me to give him the book – I had to climb up a very precarious ladder to reach him, but, oh, was it worth it!' He shoved the book into Elrond's hands. 'See?'

Elrond looked down at the autograph, which was written in purple ink.

_Dear Erestor,_

_Don't you ever lose your shine for life. Good things can happen to those who work hard enough and have the hope to sustain themselves._

_Best wishes for life,_

_Eärendil_

'You talked to Eärendil?' Elrond said in a small voice.

'Yeah,' said Erestor. 'I expected him to be all high and mighty, you know, being a star and all, but he was actually really cool about it.'

'Oh.' Elrond traced his father's name with his finger.

'He's awesome,' Erestor squealed.

'Erestor,' said Gil-galad, 'snap out of it.'

Erestor nodded and sat up straighter. His mousy brown hair brushed the tops of his shoulders. 'Hi,' he said to Elrond and smiled again. Then he just sat there smiling. He had very white teeth and a little turned up nose.

'Hi,' Elrond replied glumly.

'Will you sign it?'

'Uh, do you have a pen?'

Erestor pulled out a purple pen. Elrond took it and looked down at the book again. He signed, scribbled something down, and handed the book back to Erestor.

'Oh,' Erestor said, reading it. Two purple autographs now graced the page.

_Dear Erestor,_

_Don't you ever lose your shine for life. Good things can happen to those who work hard enough and have the hope to sustain themselves._

_Best wishes for life,_

_Eärendil_

And beneath it:

**_Dear Erestor,_ **

**_The person who wrote the above is a fool._ **

**_Wishes will get you nowhere and nothing (especially not him)._ **

**_Love,_ **

**_Elrond_ **

'Oh,' Erestor said. 'Wow. So it's true then?'

'What?'

'You really do resent your parents for thinking you were dead and leaving you to make a perilous and life-threatening journey to save the entire world of Middle-earth as we know it from the hands of an unthinkably cruel and impossibly powerful dark lord, thus ridding the world of an evil that had haunted it since before recorded time?'

Elrond paused a moment, and then nodded. 'Yes.'

'That's so interesting.' Erestor shoved the autograph book back into his bag and pulled out a small notebook. 'So, tell me, has this left you with low self-esteem? Do you have a hard time introducing yourself to other people? Do you feel like you have to do a lot of great things in order to prove yourself worthy enough to live? Are you isolated and withdrawn from people? Do you tend not to relate to others? Do you eat a lot to compensate for the void in your heart your parents left you?'

Elrond turned to Gil-galad. 'Is he real?'

'Yes.' Gil-galad placed a hand on Erestor's arm. 'Now, Erestor, remember that talk we had about tact?'

'Oh! Oh, yes, sorry. So sorry.' Erestor put the notebook away. 'I was just overcome by my natural curiosity and desire to learn. I make a regular study of people. Unfortunately, I am suffering from an overly high level of self-esteem that was caused by having two parents, as well as extended family, who loved and cared for me deeply and showered me with extreme amounts of affection. This has left me with an inability to understand that others do not have the same level of emotional maturity and resilience that I have because of my heightened familial support.'

'I don't think he's real,' Elrond said.

'Oh, he's real.' Gil-galad sat down by his map.

Elrond poked Erestor's cheek to be sure. Erestor beamed at him. 'But if you feel comfortable enough to answer any of the questions, go ahead!'

'Erestor,' Gil-galad growled.

'Right. Sorry.' Erestor tugged on the sleeves of his purple jumper, pulling them down and balling the ends in his fists.

'Hmm,' Elrond sniffed. 'Making fists is a sign of fear and intimidation. But the addition of the soft material of your sleeves – meant to protect and cradle your hands – would indicate a desire not to fight the intimidator, and thus point to submission. Coupling that with the worn nature of your sleeves, which signifies that this sleeve-holding is habitual, the whole display points towards a fearful, cowardly nature brought about by too much babying.'

Erestor stared at him, lips twitching. 'Hmm.'

Gil-galad sighed. 'Oh, great. There's two of you.' He waved his hand at Erestor. 'Come here.'

Erestor trudged over to him trying to keep angry eye contact with Elrond, quite unsuccessfully. He tripped over the edge of the rug and only barely managed to catch his balance and avoid falling over in an ungraceful manner. Instead he waved his arms in an ungraceful manner. 'Hmm,' he said again.

Gil-galad stood up and put a hand on Erestor's shoulder. 'Erestor has a brilliant mind,' he told Elrond. 'I've been working with him on plans for the country that I want you to help with.'

Erestor nodded. 'We're trying to make Lindon the best country it can be!'

'Okay.' Elrond looked at the map. 'So that's what all the little notes are about?'

'Yes,' said Gil-galad.

Elrond nodded again. 'You need more libraries.'

'Ooh! I agree!' Erestor squealed, clapping his hands together. He then froze, and coughed. 'Sorry.' He coughed again. 'Libraries are very beneficial,' he continued in a deeper voice.

'…'kay,' Elrond said, and slouched down lower on the sofa. 'I'm just going to ignore you now, if that's all right with you.'

Erestor fluttered his lashes dramatically at the ceiling. 'It's fine.'

Gil-galad looked down at the map and at his notes for the country. He sighed and made a note:

_more libraries_


	4. Fight! Fight! Fight!

A week later things had settled down some. Elrond was still sulky and Erestor was still sprightly, but they had a routine.

Every morning Elrond would wake Gil-galad up by shaking his shoulder. They would go for a run, then bathe, then breakfast together.

After breakfast Gil-galad dealt with kingly duties, and Elrond was free until lunch. Elrond usually spent this period in the library reading or napping.

At lunch Erestor joined them and after lunch all three of them sat down to brainstorm improvements for the beautiful country of Lindon. Then it was time for a ride, followed by a swim in the sea, dinner, more king duties, then reading for everyone, then bed.

It was a comfortable life. No drought, no famine, no war.

It was perfect.

'I'm bored.'

Elrond flopped onto the sofa next to Gil-galad and put his feet on the coffee table (almost knocking over Gil-galad's coffee cup) and sighed.

'Bored. B-o-r-e-d. Bored.'

Gil-galad frowned, not sure of what to do. Elrond normally seemed content with reading and sleeping, so he had no idea what had brought down this sudden bout of boredom.

'Do you… do you want to chop wood?' he suggested, remembering Círdan's letter.

'Mmm… no.' Elrond looked up at the ceiling. 'Bored. Oh, nice tiles. But also, bored.'

'Hmm.'

Gil-galad picked up his coffee and took a sip. When no inspiration came to him, he sighed and took another sip. If books were correct, he would now be saying 'Oh! I know! Do such and such!' and Elrond would be whisked out of his boredom into a healthy and productive activity. Nothing came to him.

'Mmm,' he said and took another sip. 'Good coffee.'

Elrond heaved a dramatic sigh and stretched.

Gil-galad put down his coffee cup (away from Elrond's feet) and steepled his fingers together.

'Have you…' he began carefully and paused. He looked at Elrond out of the corner of his eye. Elrond was looking at him, actually looking at him, like he might enjoy his suggestion. It was equally parts encouraging and frightening.

No, scratch that.

It was much more frightening. Gil-galad shuddered internally, thinking of all the ways he could mess up.

'So,' he began again, 'have you…maybe…considered…?'

'Mm?' Elrond tilted his head to one side, his black hair brushing against his high cheekbone.

'Maybe you could ask Erestor to do something with you?' Gil-galad said, letting it all out in a rush. 'He's particularly good at chess.'

'Chess? Hmm. No. Rather be bored.' Elrond cracked his back and made a face. 'Ew.'

'Yes. Ew.' Gil-galad sipped his coffee.

'What do you do when you're bored?'

Gil-galad laughed. 'I don't have enough free time to be bored.'

'Oh.' Elrond frowned. 'You're not bored right now?'

'No, no, no. I'm relaxing. It's nice to have nothing to do.'

'Gotchya.'

They sat in silence for some time. Gil-galad finished his coffee and poured himself another cup.

'Mm. Delicious.'

Elrond sighed.

'Why don't you find yourself a hobby?' Gil-galad suggested suddenly, remembering a particularly cute family story he had read a few years ago. A mother and her son had taken up gardening together and filled their world with beautiful plants. 'Why not gardening!'

Elrond glanced at him. 'So, like, watching things grow?'

'You get to help plants grow. You nurture and tend to them and make the world a more beautiful place. You can plant flowers or trees or bushes or vegetables. You could make the world a beautiful orchard, and it would give you something to do!'

'I don't know,' Elrond said. 'I'm not really the nurturing type.'

'Maybe Erestor would like to help you garden.'

'Maybe.'

Elrond got up and walked around the room slowly, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped at the world map and traced the mountain ranges again. 'Ch-ch-ch-ch.'

'What are you doing?'

'Mm?' Elrond paused.

'When you do that. What are you doing when you do that?'

'I'm making them bumpy.'

'Ah,' said Gil-galad. 'Of course.'

He finished the second cup of coffee and debated a third. No, that would probably overdo it. He put his cup on the tray and stood.

'Any ideas?'

'About what?'

'About what to do about your boredom. Have you thought of a hobby?'

Elrond shrugged. 'How about boxing?'

* * *

 

'This is so exciting!' Erestor exclaimed. 'I've always loved watching boxing and now being able to participate is just so unreal!'

'Yeah, sure, whatever.' Elrond tightened the strips of cloth on his hands.

'So do we have rules?' Gil-galad asked, slightly worried.

They had set up a boxing ring in one of the unused rooms in the palace. It was lit by oil lamps, which cast an almost sinister light.

Elrond and Erestor stood facing each other. They were both shirtless and dressed in white trousers. They had bare feet and had purple ribbons wrapped around their hands to protect their knuckles.

'Everything's fair, win is by KO or TKO, you're the ref,' Elrond said with a smile.

He actually looked excited, Gil-galad noted. It was a wonderful thing to see. Gil-galad was glad that they had found something Elrond was interested in besides sulking and sleeping, but he hoped that it wouldn't be too harsh of an interest.

'How fun!' Erestor chimed. He jumped up and down where he stood and jabbed the air repeatedly. 'Got it! Got it! Got it!'

Elrond raised an eyebrow.

'You're really beating the air there, champ,' he teased in such a way that was only 90% bitterly sarcastic.

'Okay,' Gil-galad said. 'Take your places.'

The two boys hopped into place, facing each other.

'And begin!'

Gil-galad clapped his hands and took a quick step back.

Erestor was the first to move. He launched forward and made a quick jab that Elrond blocked with his arm. Erestor jumped back again and Elrond moved forward.

Elrond tried a blow on Erestor's stomach, but was blocked. He quickly retreated.

Gil-galad leaned against the ropes of the ring, wondering what exactly he was supposed to do as the ref. They didn't have an audience, so he supposed he just had to call the fight when it ended.

'Come and get me, big guy!' Erestor said, hopping back again.

Elrond froze for a moment, and Erestor bounced in, managing to land a blow on his chest.

'Aw, yes!' he shouted, pumping his fist up in the air.

Elrond hit him on the side.

'Ow!'

'Ha!'

Erestor grinned, rubbing his side. 'This is fun!'

Elrond smiled back. 'It is!'

Oh. They were getting along. This was good. They had never gotten along before. Gil-Galad perked up.

They jumped around the ring more, getting in a couple hits each, but nothing serious. Gil-galad started to wonder how long this match would go on.

'This is really, really awesome!' Erestor gasped as he dodged another blow. His brown hair fanned out around his face. 'I feel, like, so alive!'

He glanced at Gil-galad for a second, and Elrond struck.

Bam.

Full fist. Full face. Erestor crumpled at the knees and dropped to the mat.

'Oh,' he said softly.

'Oh my god! Are you okay?' Gil-galad rushed forward and dropped to his knees beside him. He rolled Erestor onto his back.

'I think I'm bleeding.' Erestor put a hand to his face and touched his split lip. 'Yeah, yeah, I'm bleeding.'

'What should I do?' Gil-galad asked.

'Um,' said Erestor. 'I think you're supposed to count.'

'What?'

'You're the ref. You're supposed to count…'

'Oh. Oh, right. Um.' Gil-galad cleared his throat. 'One. Two. Three. Four. Five.'

He looked down at Erestor, who was still staring dazed at the ceiling.

'Six, seven, eight, nine, ten!' He finished hurriedly. 'So can you stand or…?'

'No, you have to say who won,' Erestor moaned.

'The winner is Elrond. Now, do you need to see someone?'

Erestor looked so young and fragile lying there on the mat. Just a little child. Gil-galad was feeling terribly irresponsible, and it was making him very mad at himself. Erestor was just a kid after all! He was only thirty-six!

'No, he'll be fine,' Elrond said, and pulled Erestor up by one hand.

Erestor smiled, then winced, and covered his split lip with his hand. 'That was totally cool,' he said. 'And I'm so going to win next time!'

Good. He was fine. He was just fine.

'Sure you are,' Elrond said. 'I'm totally getting beat by a stick like you.' This time he was only 83% bitterly sarcastic.

The ref called that a win.


End file.
